


the end of chaos

by mermaidhanji



Series: Josepha [1]
Category: Mass Effect
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Destroy Ending, Fix-It, Gen, Mass Effect 3, Non-binary character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-30
Updated: 2016-08-30
Packaged: 2018-08-11 23:31:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,383
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7911796
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mermaidhanji/pseuds/mermaidhanji
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“For millions of years, you’ve just been repeating a self-fulfilling prophecy! You’ve brought about the very chaos you were created to end!”</p>
            </blockquote>





	the end of chaos

**Author's Note:**

> wow FINALLY i finish this like 8 months after finishing me3 for the first time?? better late than never  
> basically this is my version of how mass effect ends and it is Real lmao sry bioware  
> note: i tagged with both male and female shepard b/c my babe josepha is bigender (masculine and feminine), and i use they/them pronouns in this fic.  
> enjoy!

“Where did the Reapers come from?” Shepard rasped. “Did you create them?”

Shepard clutched their broken and bloodied side with one hand, a near-empty pistol in the other. Their chest rattled horribly with every breath and they were so, so tired, but they would not fall now. They _could_ not. The ghostly figure, the Catalyst, stared up at them with the face of just one more they couldn’t save.

“My creators gave them form. I gave them function. They, in turn, give me purpose,” the Catalyst explained, watching calmly as two Reapers drifted almost lazily to a target in unison. Like wiping the galaxy clean was the simplest thing in the universe... Shepard’s legs trembled with horror and exhaustion. “The Reapers are a synthetic representation of my creators.”

“And what happened to your creators?” Shepard asked, looking up to the sky. What they hoped to find there, they didn’t know. All that the stars held were destruction and their burning homeworld.

“They became the first true Reaper. They did not approve, but it was the only solution.”

_‘They did not approve,’ that’s a light way to put it,_ Shepard thought bitterly. They were hanging by a thread, watching thousands die as warships were blown to bits, and they couldn’t stop the contempt that seeped into their voice as they turned back to the Catalyst. “You said that before, but how do the Reapers solve anything?”

The Catalyst was unfazed by their disdain. “Organics create synthetics to improve their own existence, but those improvements have limits. To exceed those limits, synthetics must be allowed to evolve. They must, by definition, surpass their creators.  The result is conflict, destruction, chaos. It is inevitable.” Shepard’s brows knit together, and they cast their gaze to the side in thought. “Reapers harvest all life—organic and synthetic—preserving them before they are forever lost to this conflict.”

Shepard couldn’t believe what they were hearing. “We’re at war with the Reapers right now!” they cried with a tremble to their voice, pointing to the chaos around them and gripping their pistol tightly, though it felt like knives up their arms.

“You may be in conflict with the Reapers, but they are not interested in war,” the Catalyst corrected coolly.

“I find that hard to believe,” Shepard snarled venomously. Was it oblivious to the hell it created, or did it simply not care? They didn’t know which was worse.

“When fire burns, is it at war? Is it in conflict? Or is it simply doing what it was created to do?” The Catalyst stared up at them evenly, “We are no different. We harvest your bodies, your knowledge, your creations. We preserve it to be reborn in the form of a new Reaper.” It cast its gaze around at what it had wrought, and Shepard couldn’t comprehend how it thought this was right. “Like a cleansing fire, we restore balance,” It turned back to Shepard. “New life, both organic and synthetic, can once again flourish.”

“You kill us all... because you think you’re saving us,” Shepard murmured, incredulous. They coughed wetly, barely registering the blood dripping from the corner of their mouth.

“I _am_ saving you,” The Catalyst stated.

“No...” They shook their head slowly, and it made their vision swim. They blinked hard, took a breath. “No,” they repeated, more firm. Though their muscles screamed in protest, Shepard stood straighter. “This isn’t ascension. This isn’t making us better, it’s tearing us down. Conflict, destruction, chaos—that’s what you claim is inevitable when synthetics evolve.” They took a painful step forward. “And you said it yourself. This isn’t war, it’s conflict.” The Catalyst blinked, and Shepard took another step.

“This is _slaughter._ It’s ruin. Look around you.” Shepard waved their hand at the fiery debris scattered among the stars. “You’re a synthetic intelligence, eradicating all life over and over... so we won’t be wiped out by synthetic intelligences?” The Catalyst’s eyes went wide, and Shepard’s voice rose to a shout, rough like sandpaper on stone. “For millions of years, you’ve just been repeating a self-fulfilling prophecy! You’ve brought about the very chaos you were created to end!”

Shepard’s voice rang around them, faded, and then they were plunged into silence. The Catalyst simply stared with unbelieving, childlike eyes, and Shepard glared back, daring it to prove them wrong. To prove that everything it had done hadn’t contradicted its purpose, its very existence. Their gazes and silence held as civilization crumbled around them.

“You... are correct,” the Catalyst finally murmured, sounding as small as the child they mimicked. “I...” It looked down at its feet, then up at the fires burning in the vacuum of space, brows together. “I did not calculate...” It trailed off, echoing and lost.

“Maybe you needed an organic viewpoint to see the bigger picture,” Shepard said quietly, their throat raw from shouting.

“Yes,” it whispered simply. It still did not look at them.

“Do you see now,” they asked, “what can be accomplished when synthetics and organics work together? Listen to one another?” The Catalyst remained silent, and Shepard continued. “When conflict arises, it can be put to rest by seeking understanding, not by genocide. Look at the quarians and the geth; there’s peace between them now. And there can be peace between you and the people of this cycle.” Their look hardened. “But you _have_ to end this. Now.”

“... Yes,” the Catalyst repeated. “If my solution was incorrect... then perhaps so were my calculations. Perhaps destruction of one or the other is not inevitable.” A moment passed, and then it finally looked back up at Shepard. “The Reapers must be destroyed, utterly and permanently. No one must encounter them again, or they would risk indoctrination. Even dead gods still dream.”

Shepard’s bones creaked as they shivered at the familiar words, but a wave of relief washed over them all the same. Finally, this could end. “Then show me how to use the Crucible,” they demanded desperately, tiredly.

“The device you refer to as the Crucible is little more than a power source,” the Catalyst explained, turning to the blazing beam of light at the end of the platform. “However, in combination with the Citadel and the relays, it is capable of releasing tremendous amounts of energy throughout the galaxy. If I disseminate my code among Reaper forces with the command to self-destruct, it will end them.”

“Disseminate your code?” Shepard echoed, taken aback. “You mean you’ll die?”

The Catalyst did not turn around. Shepard could barely see the outline of it against the light emitting from the Crucible, and in its silence, they almost thought themself to be alone. “In organic terms, yes,” it finally said.

“I’m sorry.”

The figure turned at that, regarding Shepard calmly. “It is how I must fix my mistake, and truly fulfill my purpose.” It faced forward again and began to walk, white light trailing in its wake like smoke. “I will disseminate my code and command into the Crucible. Then you must fire it.” The Catalyst pointed to an adjacent platform, and Shepard saw it: a tube-like detonator. They felt another burst of strength in their body.

“Thank you,” Shepard whispered almost brokenly. The Catalyst looked over its shoulder at them, quiet for a moment.

“Your thanks are unneeded. I am simply making what is wrong, right.” It turned back to the beam, hesitated for a fraction of a second. “Goodbye.”

The Catalyst’s form flickered as it stepped forward, then disappeared.

The beam expanded and burned brighter, humming with power, and Shepard was truly alone with only one task left.

With a heaving gasp, they willed one foot in front of the other, limping heavily to the other end of the platform. They stumbled up the ramp and tried to catch their breath, coughing up another splatter of blood and spitting out a tooth, feeling like a ripped up ragdoll; but they were here. They were here, at the end.

Down the long platform stood the detonator. Shepard could feel the hum of the Crucible in their bones, in their heartbeat, and it was all they could hear as they breathed in. Saw three years of battle, sacrifice, and death fly before their eyes to stop here. Breathed out.  
  
Shepard took a step forward, aimed their pistol, and fired.


End file.
